Journey
by Sa Rart
Summary: Drabbles. Zoe Nightshade makes her way through the world.
1. Book

** This story is a series of oneshots – all between one hundred and one thousand words – based on Zoë Nightshade after her exile from the Hesperids. The chapter names are the prompt words used to write each drabble. Enjoy!**

Book

Her tale was told, her fate was sealed. She had been exiled, never to return, and with her home she lost her power and her immortality. They would never again speak her name.

She had lived for so long, but she was doomed to die now. All of her lifetime accomplishments were ashes now, useless and paltry when compared to the one great mistake she had made.

It was hopeless. She should just kill herself now, and spare Gaia's nature the trouble. After all, what was the point? Even if she escaped now, she would be dead within decades, and her life would be lost.

It would be forgotten.


	2. Boat

Boat

Her feet stung as she dangled them into the cold salt water, the numerous blisters and sores throbbing painfully. She closed her eyes, and then slid gently into the water.

It was cold on her body, the salt harsh on the smooth, coppery skin. It had never been like this before. Her mother was Pleione, the goddess of the sea; she had always been one with the waves.

Now, they were cold and indifferent. She was like a boat, tossed and turned around upon a rough sea. The waves of the Fates had overcome her, and she had sunk under their power.

She climbed out of the alien environment and clothed herself, suddenly tired. She had been meant to comfort herself, but nothing of that sort had happened. She was an alien to the sea, foreign and strange. She was alone.


	3. Stop

Stop

Never before had she truly been tired. As a Hesperid, her life was easy enough that exhaustion had never before clouded her mind and body. But it was no stranger to her now.

The girl flopped to the ground, breathing heavily. She had been on the move for days. Her sisters may have been content to exile her and take her power, but she knew Atlas would destroy her for her betrayal if he could. She couldn't stay put. She couldn't stop.

One day, she would be free of this burden. One day, she would walk with her head held high and proud, fearless, without a shadow of doubt hanging over her.

But it was not this day.


	4. Left

Left

She fell to her knees, tears streaming down her cheeks, but he took no heed. He rode off into the forest on his high horse, not even sparing her a second glance.

She had helped him. She had very possibly saved his life. But that mattered not to him. Erebus take him, he didn't care in the slightest. For all his strength, his reputation, and his looks, Heracles was an empty shell, devoid of mercy and compassion and everything else that made a hero a hero. His servitude to his enemy had broken all integrity that had once resided within his body.

She should be angry, she knew, but somehow, she couldn't find it within herself to muster up rage at him. He had so much promise, but without honor, all his ability was useless.

But he was worse than just a useless hero. He was a parasite, one who took and then left behind its stricken host. She had loved him. But now, she hated him more than she had ever before hated any being upon the earth.

She now swore, upon the River Styx, the river of wasted dreams, the river of loss, that she would never again speak his name. She had given up her identity, her home, and her life – and in return, he had given her nothing.

She rose to her feet again, tears still running down her cheeks and welling from her eyes – but inside, she was hardened. She would take this betrayal and use it to make her strong.

She now swore that if anyone ever saved her in that way, she would take them in. She was better than he was; better than he would ever be. And she would prove it to the world.


	5. Kill

Kill

She had helped him, and he had left her. But when he abandoned her, he had done more than just that.

He had killed her.

Not physically, of course, since she still drew breath. Instead, he had killed the person she once was, her home, her memory, her identity. Instead of Zoë the Hesperid that now walked along the forest track, it was a disgraced and dispirited mortal, hopeless and disillusioned. The immortal who had once fed the dragon Ladon by hand was gone.

And it was by her own helping hand that he had felled her. She had thrust herself under the executioner's axe for him, and there he had left her.

As far as the world was concerned, she was dead.


	6. Fiction

Fiction

She was back in the garden now, power coursing through her narrow frame. The breeze, heavy with the smell of salt, blew through, whipping her hair up into a wild halo around her head. She closed her eyes, savoring the smell. A tentative touch on her palm – Ladon had touched one of his many heads to her palm, gentle as the breeze, questing for the meat he smelled so vividly. Smiling, she held it up to him, and a tongue gently slid out to draw the chunk of meat back into his mouth.

She closed her eyes, then turned to face the sunset, savoring the solitude of the moment. She was one with the wind and the sea, content and peaceful in her world. The taste of salt on her tongue and the touch of grass on her feet were all she needed.

She could still taste the salt as she woke from her dream. But now the salt came from her tears, running silently from closed eyes.

She sat up, gazing sightlessly off into the distance. The perfect world, the utopia that had once been, was forever lost to her. She would only see it in her dreams. It was fiction. In the future, she would only appear under the label of "fantasy".

And maybe, that was all it had ever been. Dreams. For nothing mortal in the world was perfect.

And she was no exception.


End file.
